Page 6 of Turning Back
“Then get on with it,” Jordan snaps. “Jesus Christ.”
‘Get on with it’ refers to the two other clamps, also attached to the harness. I kneel down and smack the inside of Sandy’s thigh as Jordan tells her to open her legs wider. My finger slips inside her pussy and finds her… dry.
I shake my head. “She’s not even wet.” Could this afternoon get any more disappointing?
“Just do the clamps,” Jordan says.
I ease the lips of her pussy open and bring the metal clamp up, ready to attach it to the folds of her labia, opening the clamp and slipping it over each side of her sensitive skin.
She freaks out. “No,” she yells. “Forget it. Nope. I’m not doing this! I’m done. Unhook me. Take this fucking blindfold off! I’m done! Safe word,” she screams. “I’m using my safe word.”
I stand up and look at Jordan. “‘Safe word’ is her safe word?”
Jordan rubs his forehead with a fingertip, like he’s got a headache.
I take the nipple clamps off, which makes Sandy writhe. “Hold still,” I growl. But she can’t hear me, so I snatch the headphones and pull the blindfold down her face and say it again. “Would you hold still, please?”
“I don’t like this anymore,” Sandy says, on the verge of tears. “I’m out.” She glances down at my nowhere-near-hard cock and sobs. “Let me go. I’m going home. I’m taking my shit and I’m—”
“We don’t care,” I say, just to shut her up. “Go. You know the rules. You can fucking leave any time you want.”
“Unhook my hands—”
But Jordan is a step ahead of her and her hands come free from the chain. They drop in front of her and she almost has a panic attack when she realizes she’s still cuffed.
“Just relax,” Jordan says as he frees her hands from the cuffs.
“You two are a bunch of fucking freaks,” Sandy spits, once her hands are free. She goes over to the closet and starts getting dressed.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again.
I take it out and say, “Yes.”
“Bric,” Margaret, the White Room manager, says on the other end of the phone. “Chella is here to see you about the Tea Room.”
“Shit,” I say. “I forgot. I’ll be right down.” I end the call and look at Jordan. “Game over,” I say, shrugging.
We’re used to this now. We’ve started a few games since the whole thing blew up last year with Quin. But none of them last. They go a few weeks. One went a few months. But most of them are like Sandy. Women who think they want this, but don’t.
None of them were anything close to Chella. Hell, Rochelle was a VIP player compared to the last few.
Sometimes I wish Chella and Smith hadn’t fallen in love. She would’ve been so fucking perfect as a permanent part of my game.
I sigh as I tuck my dick away and walk out. Sandy is still going on and on about what deviants Jordan and I are, but when I leave the apartment and close the door behind me, she is forgotten.
I get into the elevator, punch the button for two, and then button my shirt and tuck it in. By the time the elevator opens I’m mostly put back together—forgot my tie and jacket, but fuck it—and I exit and walk to the top of the stairs that overlook the lobby.
It’s busy today. Everyone is having lunch. And it’s Cyber Monday, so everyone is still loud and happy, half on holiday.
I walk down the stairs, saying polite hellos to people as I make my way into the White Room, and then head to the back table where I know Chella will be waiting. She stands when she sees me so we can hold hands and do cheek kisses.
Yeah. Sandy is no Chella.
“Hey,” I say, backing away after our greeting and taking a seat across from her. “Sorry I’m late. I forgot.”
“No biggie,” Chella says. “I’ve kept myself busy.” She’s got her laptop open with pictures of the pastries we’re going to offer for afternoon tea. I bought the building next door and we’ve been renovating for the past four months getting it ready for opening day next week. It’s just an extension of the White Room. A place for wives and mistresses, mostly. So they can feel included in the Club, even though they’re not included.
Chella hates it when I say that, but whatever. It’s true. Turning Point is about men.
